


Diplomacy: In Hushed Whispers

by RoeDusk



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Multiple Origins, One Inquisitor, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, Time Travel, aka only one Anchor, dark future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoeDusk/pseuds/RoeDusk
Summary: While Maxwell Trevelyan - Herald of Andraste - leads Orlesian petitioners to Therinfal Redoubt, Mahanon Lavellan travels to Redcliffe to speak with Tevinter Magister Gereon Alexius on the Inquisition's behalf.  He's not the Herald, and not who Gereon wants to talk to, but he only needs to keep the Magister's attention long enough for Leliana's men to level the playing field a little.A re-imagining of the In Hushed Whispers quest in a world where both Templars and Mages were approached for recruitment.  Written more as a story than canon's game mechanics would allow.  Warnings are for the dark future and the terrible things that were done to people there in canon.





	1. Investigating Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story from a Universe where Maxwell Trevelyan is the Herald of Andraste and Mahanon Lavellan was arrested attempting to find survivors of the explosion after arriving at Haven later than expected. An ally to Trevelyan in the prologue, Mahanon is invited to the War Council as a representative of the Dalish and Trevelyan's appointed officer (the way Josephine is Leliana's and Cullen is Cassandra's). This means that there are two protagonists to explore diverging paths at the same time.
> 
> A friend and I were planning to write half the story each, with lots of cross editing and story discussion, to end up with a world where compromises worked, but weren't a miracle cure. Not sure I'm ever going to write the rest of this since that project went dead, but I'm really proud of this so I wanted to share.
> 
> A quick note, Mahanon and Dorian are going to end close after this, even during, since having someone with you in an apocalypse is preferable to being alone, but I don't intend for them to date if this story continues. You're welcome to read what you want into it, but Dorian in my notes ends up with Iron Bull, and Mahanon doesn't end up with anyone.
> 
> It gets pretty dark in the middle, and the pacing is a bit off since I wasn't sure where to cut the beginning and ends, but I hope it reads well for you all in spite of everything I can see wrong with it.

“While we’re looking for Leliana’s Warden Blackwall, we should stop at Redcliffe,” Maxwell decided after a moment’s thought. At Cassandra’s frown he held up a hand, “It may be a trap, yes, but we won’t stay long, just enough to find out what the Grand Enchanter wanted to say. Then we’ll be able to considered our options.”

“As you wish,” she agreed with a sigh. Maxwell shot her a smile before leading their party towards the fortified castle town.

“I wonder what it’s like,” Mahanon spoke up suddenly, looking at the approaching keep, “Suddenly meeting so many new people in a place you’d never lived before. Is it the same for mages as for the Dalish?”

“They’re mages, not Dalish,” Cassandra rebuffed with a frown, “Is this really what you’re wondering now?”

“Lighten up, Seeker,” Varric chuckled, “We can’t all spend our time focusing on what might go wrong, or we’d be pulling our hair out. All end up as bald as Chuckles.”

“No, it is an interesting question,” Solas commented, pulling Lavellan’s attention away from their continuing banter. “And I can see where there might be similarities. Living with the same group of people in the same way for years, and then suddenly being in a new place with new people, and so many of them. I imagine it would be just as jarring as it is for one leaving the Dalish. But you must remember, for the Mages there was also no travel involved in their lives. To them, being in a new place would be as strange as meeting new people. As unnerving.”

“We’ll do our best to avoid causing them more disquiet,” Maxwell cut in, “We’re almost at the gate.” The group fell silent as they approached the open portcullis. There they were greeted by an advance agent.

“We spread word that the Inquisition was coming,” he reported at Maxwell’s nod, “But you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

“No one?” Maxwell asked, startled, “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

The Scout shrugged. “If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.” Maxwell looked like he might ask for more information, but just then a young elven mage hurried over.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly.” He shifted a little, offering a hopeful smile, “You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime?”

“Thank you,” Maxwell agreed with a nod, and the mage lead the way back into the Village. “Is there anything we can do to help while we’re here?” Maxwell asked their guide as they passed into the village proper. “We can’t do much for the war at the moment, but we can look into bandit attacks or venture out in search of supplies you might be short of.”

“Oh!” The elf looked startled, but nodded after a moment, “That would be… I think I overheard the Village Healer worrying about our herb stocks? I could take you to see her first. It’s on the way to the Inn.”

“We have some dried herbs stored at the Inquisition’s camps from our travels she might be able to use,” Maxwell agreed with a nod, “We’ll see what she needs and send a message back with a scout. The sooner the supplies arrive, the better off you’ll be, right?”

“Yes, that would be of great assistance,” the mage agreed with a quick smile before hurrying off again. The party followed. The young man lead the way up to a thatched hut and knocked.

An elven woman opened the door with a frown. “I’m sorry, but we’re almost out of herbs. But if I can help you I will.”

“I believe we are all well,” Maxwell offered with a smile, “I was hoping we could provide some of the herbs you were short on.”

“Oh!” The healer’s eyes widened, “That would be a blessing indeed. I have a list here of what we’ve run out of, and a few we’re still keeping up with but just barely.” She hurried inside and came out with a piece of parchment a moment later. “But, be careful gathering these? It’s not safe in the woods these days.”

“We’ll check our stores first and have what we can provide sent to you.” Maxwell told her, accepting the list. “Whatever we don’t have we can send foragers out to find, or we may stumble across them in our travels.”

“Bring them here when you’re done and I’ll pack them away.” The healer agreed with a smile, “And good luck to you.”

“Thank you,” their guide said as they gathered back on the main road. “It’s good to know there are still people willing to help.” He lead them the rest of the way through the Village to the Inn, and it wasn’t hard to see the unrest in the environment. The townspeople were nervous, and the mages torn between desperate and shocked at their arrival. Their guide offered them one last nod and left them at the door.

Inside, the party found Grand Enchanter Fiona, or rather Former Grand Enchanter Fiona. She had no recollection of her invitation in Val Royeax, indeed, claiming to have been nowhere near there. And she had promised the Mage Rebellion to the Tevinter Imperium. More specifically a Magister Gereon Alexius.

Mahanon watched silently, trying to figure out the sudden shift in alliance apparently taking place in front of him. He also wondered at Fiona’s naivete. Even he could see the trap here. 10 years of slavery for the chance to earn a life of servitude with some rights? What little he knew of politics also balked at the idea of the Arl of Redcliffe being banished by a foreign Magister, that wasn’t how politics worked, that was conquest. And the Magister seemed somewhat taken with Maxwell, which worried him.

Just when Maxwell and the Magister had sat down to begin their negotiations, the Magister’s son stumbled back towards the group, almost falling. Mahanon scrambled to catch him, and Maxwell and the Magister were on their feet in a moment.

The young man, Felix, was ill enough that Gereon called off the negotiations to rush him to treatment at even that feigned stumble, calling Fiona after him. Once they were gone, Mahanon revealed the letter the other had slipped him in the fall, and the company debated the merits of heading to the Chantry as directed.

But the inn was beginning to regain it’s usual clamor, so Cassandra and Maxwell headed outside in search of greater privacy to argue in, Varric following them out with a smirk. Mahanon hung back, and Solas stayed to keep him company.

A man with a sunburst brand on his head watched them as he sat at a nearby table, and when he spotted Mahanon looking back he looked interested in conversing, but didn’t move to come to them. So the elf obliged him by coming over, with Solas trailing behind.

“I wondered if I should approach you,” the Tranquil offered in greeting, “But I chose not to intrude. Sometimes it can be better not to impose in case others do not think kindly of me.”

“They don’t think kindly of you? And treat you ill because of it?” Mahanon asked, annoyed at the revelation. But the Tranquil shook his head slightly.

“No worse than normal for a Tranquil. Magister Alexius wishes only Mages to remain in Redcliffe. He will not approve of you, as he does not approve of me.” He shook his head. “Many Mages say the same, now that they are out of the Circles. And many villagers have already left to escape the possibility of Alexius’s ire.”

“But you came with the mages. Why would they disapprove of you?” Mahanon asked, his former uncertainty of Tranquil forgotten. “Are you in danger from Alexius?”

“They do not like to be reminded of what mages can become, Alexius least of all. And I may be in danger, in time, if I do not obey him. He says all Tranquil must leave Redcliffe, but who would take us in?”

“The Inquisition will shelter you,” Mahanon replied with a frown. “There is already a group there. Speak with the scouts at the crossroads, I will talk to the others on your behalf.”

The other considered him for a moment before replying. “Those now in Redcliffe prefer not to see us, but you chose to offer aid. We will accept it. I am Clemence, an Alchemist, and your Inquisition must require potions. I can offer my services. While one lives, it is good to believe there is still a use for one’s talents.”

“Mahanon Lavellan. The Inquisition will be honored to have you,” Mahanon told him sincerely. Solas blinked at him but remained silent.

“Now, I must tell the others,” Clemence told them both, standing, “You will secure us a place in the Inquisition?”

“I will speak to the others at once,” Mahanon promised. Clemence accepted that and left.

“Are you sure that was wise?” Solas asked after a moment, “It’s a long trip to Haven, and even Tranquil might get attacked by Demons on the road these days.” He leaned on his staff, “Is it kindness to worry about them, if they cannot feel gratitude?”

“They are still people,” Lavellan disagreed with a shake of his head. “Just because they do not have ambition, or dreams does not make them less so. Dwarves do not dream. And Tranquil can still feel, just not nearly as much. He still wanted a purpose.”

“As you say,” Solas agreed after a moment’s thought. “Perhaps we should speak with Maxwell and Cassandra, then?”

“Inquisition huh?” An elderly mage interrupted, coming to stand beside them. “I wish to Holy Andraste you’d gotten here sooner. These Tevinters make my shoulder blades itch!” He shook his head, “Name’s Talwyn, and I hope you’re here to help sort out this mess.”

“Mahanon, and we’ll do our best. How long have they been here?” Lavellan asked, trying to figure out why they hadn’t heard before now.

“Magister Alexius and his people arrived two days after we retreated from the destruction at the Conclave,” the old man replied bitterly. “He drove everyone out of the keep, except a handful of servants, and took over. Even drove out the Arl.” The older man sighed, shaking his head, “Something’s not right about that lot. They’re not like us. Magic or no, I’d rather count myself among the decent folk he drove away than stand with Magisters.”

“They why are you here?” Mahanon asked in surprise.

“I was 10 when I came into my magic. Lived my whole life in the Circle of Magi in Hossberg. Three meals a day, quality education, a roof over my head. If you’re not summoning Demons, a Mage’s Tower’s a fine place to live. Then that cursed vote turned us all into Apostates. Those of us wanting to stay loyal had to choose between siding with them or cutting loose. I figured I’m better off with my fellow mages than on my own.”

“I’ll do my best to help,” Mahanon told him when he finished, “For now, we must go.”

“Be careful,” Talwyn insisted, “The Tevinters likely aren’t happy you’re asking questions.”

“We will step lightly,” Lavellan agreed, before leading the way out of the Inn. Outside Varric stood waiting with a smile.

“There you are,” The dwarf greeted cheerfully, “Cassandra was worried you might have wandered off. She and Maxwell went to speak with the scouts and get the herbs for the healer. What have you two been up to?”

“There’s a group of Tranquil who need somewhere to go now that the Magister is throwing them out,” Mahanon replied, “I offered them a place with the Inquisition.”

“And It seems the Tevinter alliance was cemented two days after the destruction of the Conclave,” Solas finished with a meaningful look.

“And we haven’t heard anything,” Varric sighed, “This just gets more complicated the more we learn. As for the Tranquil, heck, we’ll take them, like you said. We can use all the skilled help available. Let’s tell the others and see about gathering an escort.”

Mahanon nodded, followed by Solas, and Varric lead the way back to the healer’s hut. On the way there they found Maxwell engaged in conversation with a man seeking his apparently prophetic goat adviser? Maxwell agreed they would look for it when they were out and about and Cassandra just rolled her eyes and let him. She took the news of an alchemist with more interest, and agreed to send word to Cullen for an escort back to haven.

“Now, to the matter at hand,” Maxwell took charge once they were out of hearing range of the strange goat’s human. “I think we need to go to the Chantry and see what’s going on.”

“We don’t know who or what might be waiting for us there,” Cassandra disagreed, then sighed, “But you’re right, we do need to know what’s going on.”

“And between the five of us, we should be able to handle anything a Magister might throw at us,” Solas agreed.

“Are we decided then?” Mahanon asked, not wanting to trigger a fight, but wanting to move on.

“We were always going to end up going, weren’t we? Let’s be honest, everyone here wants to know what’s going on with that note.” Varric replied. “It’s too much of a cliffhanger to leave like it is.”

Maxwell nodded and Cassandra shortly after him, so the group set out for the Chantry.

 

* * *

 

There was a stranger waiting for them in the Chantry, a mage. Also a Fade Rift, but the mage was trying to stem the tide of demons, so it probably wasn’t a trap. They didn’t ask, really, just waded in to take out the monsters before allowing Maxwell to do his thing. Once the rift was finally closed, the stranger glanced around the room appreciatively, then turned to them with a smile, Maxwell specifically.

“Fascinating. How does that work, exactly?” Before the noble had more than a second to consider his answer, the mage laughed. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.”

Mahanon began smiling at that, but Cassandra frowned. Fortunately Maxwell spoke before she could.

“Who are you?”

“Ah,” the mage agreed, taking a half step back, “Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” He offered a short bow. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter,” Cassandra inferred giving Maxwell a look. “Be cautious with this one.”

“I would have said something more along the line of, ‘Careful Maxwell, it’s the pretty ones you need to watch out for,’” Varric told her, and Cassandra glared at him.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian noted with a raised eyebrow, not waiting for Maxwell’s reply he pressed on. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable -- as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I don’t know,” Mahanon spoke up with a smirk, “We’ve seen his maternal side, you may not have been able to take any risks at all.”

“I see you’ve met Felix,” Dorian replied with a smile of his own, “I assure you, when no one is ill, Alexius is a more typical mentor.”

“Felix is the one who sent us,” Maxwell cut in, “We were expecting him to be here.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Dorian said with a shrug, “He was to deliver my note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“ _Your_ note?” Cassandra repeated incredulously, “Why? When you are a Magister yourself…”

Dorian made a disgusted noise, “All right. Let’s say this once. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know Southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

“What is the Magisterium?” Mahanon asked before anyone else could interrupt. The others looked at him in surprise, but Dorian shrugged.

“The ruling body of Tevinter. I’d be happy to tell you all about it later.”

Mahanon let that go with a nod, but had another question. “Alexius was really worried when Felix pretended to feel faint. Is he ill, or has been badly so before?”

“He’s had some lingering illness for months,” Dorian replied, his mask softening a bit at the admission. Then he smiled again, “Felix is an only child, and Alexius is being a Mother Hen, most likely.”

“You _are_ the one who sent that note, then?” Maxwell asked, bringing the conversation back on course.

“I am,” Dorian agreed. “Someone had to warn you, after all. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the Rebel Mages out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right.” Dorian’s voice rose, “To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“He used time magic to arrive here just after the Divine died? Fascinating, if true… and almost certainly dangerous,” Solas mused, and Dorian nodded, turning back to Maxwell.

“You catch on quick. The Rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon, there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe.” His mask slipped slightly, and the mage gave the group a sincere look of worry. “The magic Alexius is using is widely unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“How can we trust you, on only your word?” Cassandra demanded, as Solas frowned consideringly.

“No, it is possible. None have accomplished it in recorded history, but that does not mean this Alexius could not have accomplished it now, when so much of the world has changed.”

“I know what I’m talking about,” Dorian insisted, insulted, “I helped develop this magic.” He forced his hands to relax as he continued. “When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” Felix spoke as he approached the gathering. He came to a stop on Solas’s other side and Dorian gave him a smile and a nod of greeting.

“Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?”

“No,” Felix reassured him, “But I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Then he turned to Maxwell, “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori.’ And I can tell you one thing: Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“Why would he rearrange time, and indenture the Mage Rebellion, just to get to me?” Maxwell asked incredulously.

“They’re obsessed with you,” Felix told him with a worried frown before shaking his head, “But I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You can close the Rifts,” Dorian mused. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or they see you as a threat?”

“If the Venatori are behind those Rifts, or the Breach in the sky, They’re even worse than I thought,” Felix replied worriedly.

“Alexius is your father,” Maxwell pointed out, “And Dorian’s mentor. Why are you working against him?”

“Former mentor,” Dorian insisted mildly.

“I work against him for the same reason Dorian works against him,” Felix replied earnestly. “I love my father, and I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian offered, “There’s already a hole in the sky.”

“Supposing this is all more than speculation,” Cassandra hesitated, then sighed, “How do we stop him?”

“You already know his target,” Dorian replied simply, “Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.” He continued without a pause, cutting off anything Cassandra may have replied to that. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to walk away, only to pause and turn back. “Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” the younger mage replied lowly, before turning to go himself.

“Wait!” Cassandra insisted, and Felix stopped. “We still don’t have a plan!”

“I’ll help if I can,” Felix replied apologetically, “But it may be better that I don’t know too much. I hope we meet again soon.” And, with that, he left.

“Well, that was interesting,” Varric commented once they were alone.

“Indeed,” Solas agreed, “To think time magic could cause rifts like this one. I wonder how the magic is tied to the rifts, or the Breach.”

“In any case, we should return to Haven, to plan our next move,” Cassandra insisted.

“We should look around first, see what we can do to help in this area,” Maxwell disagreed softly, “If we do decide to come back, it may be helpful to have cultivated good will. Besides, we still have a Grey Warden to find.”

“And you need to go find a ‘special’ ram,” Varric chuckled as they stepped into the sunlight, “So, where to, Herald?”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow at the name, but let it go when Varric shrugged. “What do you think?” he asked the group.

“We should look for the Warden if we are going to,” Cassandra replied firmly, “The sooner Leliana has her information, the sooner she can find answers.”

“I was hoping to wander around town,” Mahanon disagreed quietly, “There are people who might be willing to talk now that the Magister has returned to the keep.”

“We should split up,” Solas offered, “I will stay with Mahanon, the presence of a mage may set some of those here at ease. We’ll see what we can learn and aiding those we can. The rest of you can look for the Warden.”

“When we’re done, return to the refugee camp,” Maxwell decided, taking charge once more, “See if there is anything else the Inquisition can do for them.”

“Understood,” Mahanon agreed, and the others set out.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, where to first?” Solas asked with a smile.

“How did Felix seem to you?” Mahanon asked instead. The other elf frowned, looking into the distance.

“Not well, but not as badly as I assumed, from his father’s reaction. His illness… it is unlikely he will survive.”

Mahanon nodded slowly, Felix’s last words echoing in his memory, “I wonder if he knows that.” Then he shook himself. “Let’s mingle.”

“For one of the Dalish, you’re handling crowds rather well,” Solas pointed out as they set off. “And you continually run into danger for strangers. I was worried at first you might be loyal only to your own.”

“Glad to disappoint,” Mahanon replied with a shrug. “As for crowds… would you believe I’m faking it?”

“Really?” Solas blinked, then smiled, “In that case, I’m impressed.”

“You’re from the Inquisition?” The guide from earlier interrupted, stumbling back after nearly running into Lavellan, “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Were you really looking to _ally_ with us?”

“We need your help, why wouldn’t we ally with you?” Mahanon asked, cocking his head.

“I believe he was more worried about the difference between _allies_ and _conscripts_ ,” Solas offered.

“Everyone seems to want our power,” the guide agreed softly, “But no one ever asks what _we_ want to use it for.”

“You’re worried an end to the war puts you back in a Circle,” Mahanon realized.

“There has to be a way, right?” the guide asked earnestly, “We’re not what they think, all blood mages and abominations. We just want to be normal. Have families. Use our magic to… to help grow crops or something.”

“Not to have to see magic as evil, or inherently more dangerous than any other craft,” Solas finished for him, nodding.

“Exactly,” the younger man agreed. “We never wanted war. What choice did we have? Stay and be slaves?”

“If I can, I will help you achieve that,” Lavellan promised, and the mage stared at him in some mixture of shock and awe.

“I’m Lysas,” the elf introduced himself, “I… I hope you can do something. Tying ourselves to Tevinter…? That can’t be the right way to end this.”

“You think the Grand Enchanter’s decision was odd too?” Mahanon asked, and the mage relaxed slightly, nodding.

“I was there when we voted to leave the Circle. She really seemed to care what we wanted. She was ready to rebel, but she wasn’t going to unless it was the will of all mages. It’s hard to believe she’d go behind our backs and sell us to the Magisters.”

“You seem young to be part of this,” Solas offered gently.

“I came into my magic when I was nine years old,” Lysas replied sadly, “Templars came into the Alienage and took me to the Circle. They didn’t even let me say goodbye. It’s not right. I studied hard, I passed my Harrowing, I sing the Chant. But I’ll be locked up for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right,” Mahanon agreed, “You’re people, just like any other. I’ll do my best to make the others see that. Still, take care of yourself, Lysas. There’s something strange going on.”

“I will,” Lysas promised, “I never thought the Grand Enchanter would swear to a Magister.” He gave them a half bow before hurrying away.

Once Lysas was gone Solas turned to Mahanon questioningly, “Do you mean what you said? You sounded sincere, but it’s an uncommon view.”

“You accept my views on Tranquil but not Mages?” Lavellan asked incredulously. Solas considered that, then smiled.

“I had forgotten for a moment. If you truly do believe that, you may be just what these mages need.”

“I gave Lysas my word that I would try,” Mahanon replied, hurt, pressing on without waiting for Solas’s response.

Not much farther, the path turned past a group of benches. They were abandoned, save for an old elf, sitting with his head in his hands. Mahanon stopped, hesitated, and then went to sit beside him. He was dressed in the robes of a mage, but not Chantry issued, more the garb a hedge mage might use. The older elf looked up after a moment, meeting his eyes, and sighed.

“What world is this, that Demons and brigands stop a man from taking flowers to his wife’s shrine?” He asked, and Mahanon lifted a hand to his shoulder.

“I can fight Demons and brigands. Either to clear the way or, if you’ll allow it, to bring the flowers to your wife’s shrine myself.”

The widower blinked, “I… I don’t know what to say, except thank you. You are Dalish, are you not? Here, these are the flowers I hoped to deliver.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, unsure how the other would react. “My Senna and I, we kept to the old ways as we could, though I know we are as children to you.”

“I would think of you as revered elders,” Mahanon disagreed, “That you try is as good as any of The People.”

“My Senna would have loved to hear that,” the older elf murmured wistfully. Then he nodded, “Her shrine lies on a hill to the west, near the Table Stones. Thank you.”

“Stay safe,” Lavellan told him, standing with the flowers.

“Walk in peace,” the old elf replied, watching as Mahanon rejoined Solas and the two walked away.

“There was a storyteller up ahead talking of a Spirit of Valor in a nearby lake,” Solas told Mahanon as they started off. “Apparently young women bring it daisies and ask for help in love, but receive nothing, because it is Valor, not Love, and prefers the flowers of the Blood Lotus.” He chuckled at that.

“We can check it out on the way to deliver these flowers to the grave,” Mahanon told him, carefully wrapping the stems and tying them into his collar. At Solas’s startled expression he shrugged. “You always seem surprised when I’m willing to do something you want to do.”

“Perhaps I, too, have dealt with few people, and it reflects in my expectations,” Solas replied by way of apology. “You continue to surprise me. Between you and the Herald I expect I should be used to it by now.”

Mahanon offered another shrug in reply, leading the way out of the village. Then he paused, “Where is this lake, exactly? Please tell me you know.” Solas laughed.

“You know, I don’t exactly know. I expect we’ll stumble upon it sooner or later.”

“I don’t know,” Mahanon replied with a smile, “I am rather oblivious. If I’m about to fall in, stop me.”

“You have my word,” Solas agreed with a smile of his own, and they set out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to recap, in case it wasn't clear, Fiona came to Val Royeaux to try and get the Inquisition to talk to the mages, then it seems Alexius used time magic to get to the mages before she ever left, so she isn't aware she made the offer.


	2. A Diplomatic Choice

“What news from Redcliffe,” Mahanon asked, stepping up to Leliana’s desk.

She scoffed, waving dismissively at the tent walls, “I should know better than to expect privacy here. But you’re right. We’ve received a letter from Magister Alexius, inviting the Herald to negotiate for his mages, one-on-one.”

“A letter for Maxwell? Specifically?” Mahanon blinked.

“Obviously a trap, no?” the spymaster replied cheerfully. “The question is, what will we do about it?” Mahanon considered that, but any reply was cut off by the arrival of one of Leliana’s agents.

“I’m sorry my lady, sir, but they’re calling a War Council. You’re needed in the Chantry.”

“Very well,” Leliana agreed, straightening and turning towards the Chantry door. “We’d better not keep them waiting, after all.” Mahanon nodded his thanks to the messenger and followed her out.

“Excellent news,” Josephine announced as the meeting began, “Several noble houses of Orlais have agreed to help us petition the templars to help stop the breach. We only need set the date and the Herald can meet them there.”

“That _is_ good news,” Leliana agreed gently, “However, we’ve also received a letter from Alexius inviting the Herald to negotiate for use of the mages.”

“He asks for the Herald by name, it’s obviously a trap,” Josephine pointed out, “Trevelyan must lead the petitioners, or they won’t cooperate.”

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister,” Cassandra replied, alarmed, “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle!” Cullen protested. “Either we find another way in, or give up. We can manage with just the templars.”

“And leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” Leliana argued.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Maxwell interrupted. “We cannot afford to ignore either threat. Still, I can hardly be in two places at once.”

“You must go with the petitioners,” Josephine told him tiredly, “Even with the threat Alexius poses, an Orlesian Inquisition cannot march into Ferelden. It would provoke a war.”

“Then we won’t use the army,” Mahanon spoke up suddenly. When everyone turned to look at him he crossed his arms. “If we can’t be seen attacking the castle, then we sneak in. Use another entrance. Hunt downwind.”

“The Herald doesn’t need to go, not really,” Leliana agreed, “We only need someone to distract Alexius long enough for my men to get into place. It’s risky, but I think we can pull it off.”

“In the meantime, the Herald can lead the petitioners to speak with the templars,” Josephine inferred, “Even if the outcomes aren’t what we expect, we will end the mission with more allies than we had before.”

“And here you all started without me,” Dorian Pavus sighed loudly as the door swung open to admit him. One of Leliana’s guards hurried in after him, stopping him before he got too close to the table.

“My apologies, but this man says he has information about the Redcliffe Magister and his methods.”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Cullen demanded, frowning slightly at the newcomer. Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but Maxwell spoke first.

“He’s Dorian, if I remember correctly. He helped us with a rift that manipulated time the last time we were in Redcliffe.”

 _“If_ you remember?” Dorian gasped in mock horror, “How cruel. But that’s beside the point.” He turned back to the room determinedly. “Your spies won’t make it past Alexius’s magic without my help. So, if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

“I’ll go to meet Alexius,” Mahanon spoke up. “Josephine has been coaching me, I know enough to bluster my way inside as a diplomatic stand-in while Maxwell is away, keep the Magister busy arguing that he should be allowed to speak with the Herald while Dorian and Leliana get our men into position.”

“The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen told the elf hesitantly. “We don’t know that he’ll humor you rather than killing you outright. There’s still time to work on another plan, negotiate with the templars first and then go back to treating with mages.”

“Or the mages may refuse to help us at all, given our overtures to their opponents,” Josephine disagreed. “We must approach both at once, or pick only one.”

Mahanon frowned, “I’m not leaving the mages. I gave my word I would help however I can.”

Maxwell met his look and nodded, turning back to the table. “Mahanon will take a team to Redcliffe to treat with Magister Alexius, while Leliana’s men move into position. They will free the castle if they can, offering sanctuary to the mages of Redcliffe if they can’t. Cassandra and I will go to Therinfal Redoubt to meet with the Lord Seeker.”

“And with our army remaining afield, the Magister will be less likely to suspect a trap in return,” Leliana agreed, “That is, if our new friend here doesn’t alert him we are coming.”

“Such charming company,” Dorian replied with a tense smile. “What a relief to know I’ll fit right in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short, but I wasn't happy with it at the end of the last chapter due to the time skip.


	3. Return to Redcliffe

“I was unaware you were taking lessons from the Ambassador,” Solas admitted as the party arrived at Redcliffe.

“My clan knew only the basics of the current political world, and we were more active in seeking out that information than most,” Mahanon replied, then shrugged. “Josephine agreed to fill in the blanks. Explaining some of the things I never had to know about diplomacy is just a side effect. I’m not going to be an expert anytime soon, but for now I know enough about give and take to convince the Magister I have something he wants: access to Maxwell.”

“I will enjoy seeing what you’ve learned,” Solas smiled, “So long as this negotiation does not kill us all.”

“What’s with all this overwhelming optimism?” Blackwall complained as he strode along behind them. “Let’s just get in, get out, and go back to Haven. Simple.”

“Quite,” the bald elf agreed with a laugh.

 

* * *

 

The Venatori guarding Redcliffe Castle’s throne room looked over the group curiously, but glanced at one another when they didn’t find the figure they were looking for. The seneschal stepped forward with a frown.

“The invitation was for Master Trevelyan alone.”

“He had a previous appointment he couldn’t get out of,” Mahanon replied apologetically, “But the Inquisition is grateful for the invitation, and hoped sending an envoy was better than sending no envoy at all.”

That seemed to stump everyone in the room for a moment. Solas smirked slightly as Blackwall looked at Mahanon in stunned silence and the Venatori considered their options. Finally the seneschal nodded jerkily and gestured for the group to follow him inside. The guards closed ranks behind them, but Mahanon pretended he didn’t notice.

“My Lord Magister,” the seneschal announced as they entered, “The agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

“My friends,” Alexius greeted, standing from his throne, “It is good to see you again. Though, I had hoped the Herald himself would answer my letter…”

“He’s been unavoidably detained,” Mahanon shrugged, “A prior engagement could not be rescheduled. Hopefully he will be available for future negotiations.”

“I see…” Alexius trailed off, hesitantly for a moment, before he smiled, gesturing to the Inquisition ‘ambassadors’. “Then let us begin. I’m sure, in time, we can work out an arrangement equitable to all parties.”

“And are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” The former Grand Enchanter demanded, moving into the throne room proper from her place by the wall.

“Fiona, when you turned your followers over to my care you entrusted me with their lives,” Alexius rebuked, and Fiona frowned at him.

“No, let her speak,” Mahanon interrupted, “The Grand Enchanter knows her people better than either of us. I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition.”

“Thank you,” Fiona gave him a short bow in recognition of his aid, and moved to stand between the two parties.

Alexius frowned but did not object, instead returning to the throne and taking a seat. After taking a moment to settle, he leaned forward and spoke. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in Exchange?”

“The Inquisition is prepared to supply food, supplies, and shelter to your people while preparations are being made to close the Breach.” Mahanon replied easily, “The spreading Rifts are a threat even as far north as Tevinter, as you must know. We are also prepared to provide a nominal recompense should any of the mages choose to stay with the Inquisition rather than finalize their contracts and accompany you back to Tevinter.”

The Magister froze, eyeing the Dalish with a frown as though something had finally occurred to him. “You misunderstand the situation, I believe. They are _already_ under contract with me.”

“Your agreement is with Grand Enchanter Fiona, as one leader to another,” Solas disagreed mildly. “Any living being unhappy with their circumstances may seek another leader, succeed even, so long as there is another willing to accept them.”

“You mock me?” Alexius demanded incredulously. “It seems the Inquisition truly does not care if they receive the mages’ assistance. Instead of a delegation they send southern elves determined to belittle all things Tevinter.”

“You asked for the Herald,” Mahanon cut him off. “Since he was unavailable, they sent the closest person they could think of. _I_ caught the Herald as he fell from the fade, I felt the tear between worlds on my skin and witnessed the destruction it caused with my own eyes. That I am an elf was mere happenstance.”

“Then perhaps you will have more luck reaching the Herald than another might,” Alexius dismissed him, “For I have made up my mind. I will treat with no other on this matter.”

A moment’s silence passed, then the Dalish elf smiled. “Very well. Then perhaps you would be willing to satisfy our curiosity instead. We’d much rather discuss your time magic in any case.”

Alexius’s eyes widened slightly at that, but he leaned back in affected nonchalance, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean...”

“They know everything, Father,” Felix interrupted, stepping forward to draw the older man’s attention.

“Felix, what have you done?” Alexius demanded, the rest of the room suddenly not worth his notice.

“He’s worried you’re involved in something terrible,” Mahanon replied in the young man’s stead, “And he asked us to stop you before you do something you can’t take back.”

“Father…” Felix tried, but Alexius cut him off angrily, glaring down at the elf in front of him.

“You think to turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with armed companions at your back and you think you’re in control? The Inquisition’s power is nothing but a mistake.”

“Who caused the Divine’s Death?” Mahanon demanded, stepping forward, and Alexius sneered down at him.

“It was the Elder One’s moment. Your precious Herald was unworthy to even stand in his presence. He stole that mark from his betters. None of you could even begin to understand its purpose.”

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix begged. “Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be,” Dorian spoke up suddenly, emerging from the shadows by one of the pillars. Mahanon spared a moment to hope he didn’t give them away. But it seemed his arrival was enough of a distraction to avoid that.

“Dorian,” Alexius growled, somehow tired, sad, and angry all at once, “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down.”

“Ah, yes. That’s sort of why I’m standing on this side,” the younger man quipped back, but Alexius just frowned at him and continued on.

“The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its ashes.”

“You follow a madman,” Solas argued, “Meddling with forces none of you understand.”

“Soon he will become a God,” Alexius rebuked, “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona cried in horror.

“Alexius,” Dorian pleaded, stepping forward, “This is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen. Why would you support this?”

“Stop it, Father,” Felix insisted, picking up the thread, “Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No!” Alexius protested, turning to his son, “It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

“Save me?!”

“There _is_ a way,” Alexius insisted, turning away, pained, “The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

“I’m going to die,” Felix cut him off, “You need to accept that.”

“No!” Alexius cried, stepping forward, “Seize them, Venatori.”

That’s when Leliana’s men made their move, every enemy soldier in the room falling with an arrow in the throat, or a soldier’s blade in their back. Alexius stared in shock as his guards bled out and Inquisition soldiers took their places.

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” Mahanon announced grimly, “Give it up.”

“This whole meeting was a mistake,” the Magister muttered, reaching into a pocket, “It won’t happen again.”

“No!” Dorian shouted, leaping forward with a spell even as Alexius began to cast. Mahanon lunged after him, and then the world was enveloped in green light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think most of this is directly pulled from in-game dialogue. I'm the one who made Solas laugh tho, so I apologize for that blasphemy.


	4. Facing the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to break this up and make it flow well, so it's all one chapter. Sorry for the length. And the trauma, this is the Dark Future chapter, it's not pretty.

Mahanon fell, then rolled to his feet, bitter water on his lips and soaking his clothes. He barely had time to register Dorian scrambling to his feet beside him before a pair of badly startled Venatori soldiers attacked them. One panicked fireball and a well timed strike with a dagger, and their attackers were reduced to soggy smoldering corpses. Mahanon searched their pockets, locating a prison key before he realized the mage was talking.

“Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s when! Alexius used the Amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

“Forward or back?” Mahanon asked as that sunk in. “And how far?”

“Those are _excellent_ questions,” Dorian agreed cheerfully. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” Then he sighed, cheer fading. “Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

Mahanon nodded his agreement, “Stay alert, I don’t want anything sneaking up on us when there’s no backup coming.”

“I see what you mean,” Dorian agreed before cracking another grin, “But don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

Mahanon was startled to find himself smiling at that, in spite of the circumstances.

 

* * *

 

“It’s always the same old tune,” Dorian complained aloud as they skirted yet another room full of unnervingly humming glowing red rock. “‘Let’s play with magic we don’t understand. It will make us incredibly powerful!’ Evidently it doesn’t matter what you do to the world while you’re at it.”

“Do you hear something?” Mahanon asked suddenly, before wincing at the abrupt change of subject. Dorian frowned, but a moment later his eyes widened and he nodded. Mahanon took point, melding into the shadows as best he could, and stepped into the next room, where someone was singing.

There was a figure curled in the corner of a cell, as far from the bones and red crystals as they could get, rocking back and forth as they sang quietly. Mahanon took one look around to be sure there was no one else nearby, and approached. The figure was an elf, as evidenced by their pointed ears, skeletally thin. And the voice was weak, but familiar.

“Lysas?” Mahanon breathed, horrified, “What did they do to you?”

But the young elf didn’t hear him, didn’t respond, even when the rogue finally pried the cell lock open and gently took his hands. He just kept rocking, hands clenching and unclenching, and singing a prayer to Andraste.

“His mind is gone, all but destroyed,” Dorian murmured sadly, watching as Mahanon tried resting a hand on the other’s head and still received no response. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“This is the future,” Mahanon growled, low in his throat. “He was an idealist, young, but optimistic when we met only two weeks ago. And if he was starved and tortured before that, it would not have been in this castle.” He had to force himself to let go, to turn his back and walk away, shoulders tense. Dorian followed cautiously.

“It certainly seems we’ve been thrown forward in time, doesn’t it?” The mage asked, determined to turn the conversation away from the broken man they were leaving behind, “But how far? And what happened to bring about such a depressing atmosphere, I wonder?”

“We’re going back,” Mahanon grit out, turning to look at the mage with pained eyes, “Both of us, in one piece, and then we’re going to stop this from happening.”

“Well, you have me convinced,” Dorian quipped after a moment’s stunned silence, “I’ll get right on that then, shall I?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mahanon murmured, not sure if it was the right thing to say but wanting the other to know nonetheless. Dorian faltered, looking surprised, then he managed a weak smile.

“I’m rather fond of your company myself. Now, let’s see about fixing this mess, hmm?”

Mahanon nodded and they pressed on.

 

* * *

 

More Venatori soldiers wandered the halls, singly or in small groups. Far too few for an occupying army. Mahanon snuck up behind each one and took them out as quietly as he could, while Dorian hung back and watched.

Three bodies later and down two flights of stairs, they stumbled across a pair of soldiers dragging another emaciated form out of a cell. Mahanon didn’t wait to see who it was or where they were taking them. One of the Venatori, the one without a dagger buried in his throat, managed to scream for help, but there was no one hear him. Mahanon made short work of him as well.

“And here I thought you might finally need me,” Dorian muttered, having run into the fray only a few seconds too late. Mahanon ignored him, turning to the prisoner instead. Another elf, if the ears could be trusted. Once they stopped short of flinching away from his blades, they stared back at him in shock.

“You’re alive?” Solas breathed, drawing himself up straight with a wince, “We saw you die!”

“Solas…” Mahanon began, pained. His hand reached out to rest on the other’s shoulder and Solas flinched before shuddering and leaning into the touch.

“How is this possible?” He asked in disbelief. Dorian gestured between Mahanon and himself.

“The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We’ve only just got here, so to speak.”

“Can you reverse the process?” Solas asked, leaning forward, some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. “You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late…!”

“You’re dying,” Mahanon realized, the words bitter on his tongue. Solas startled, then shook off his hand. The hunter let him go reluctantly.

“Red Lyrium,” Solas said after a moment, “If introduced to a living body, it eventually kills them or takes over. But no matter. If you can undo this, they can all be saved. Please.”

“Tell me what I need to know,” Mahanon replied, ignoring Dorian’s worried look. Solas nodded.

“You know nothing of this world. Everything has gone far worse than you understand. Alexius served a master, the Elder One. When the Herald lead a mission to this Castle to recover Leliana and yourself, he was captured. Alexius killed him, and delivered his severed hand to the Elder One, who reigns now, unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene and used the chaos to invade the south. And he conquered it with an army of demons. You’ve only been gone a year, and this is what has occurred. Once you defeat Alexius you must remember. You must be prepared.”

“We will,” Mahanon swore grimly, “But we can’t do this alone.”

Solas nodded crouching to loot a staff from one of the dead guards. “If there is any hope, any way to save them… my life is yours. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”

“Drink,” Mahanon insisted, holding out one of the health potions that had made it through the breach with him. There were only two, but he couldn’t leave the shell of his friend with nothing to help. Solas hesitated, eyes widening in something like panic, but he accepted the potion with a strained smile.

“Thank you.”

Mahanon just nodded, waiting until the other drank it before leading the way out of the dungeon.

“Well then,” Dorian spoke up after a long moment, “Where to now?”

“They took captives,” Solas replied seriously, “When the Elder One defeated the Inquisition I was already locked away, but I know Leliana is alive. And there may be others trapped within these walls, but alive or dead I do not know.”

“If they’re alive, we find them,” Mahanon spoke before Dorian could make a nervous quip. “If we can. Someone must know where Alexius is, and how to get to him.”

“Well then, your spymaster would seem to be the best bet,” Solas pointed out, “The sooner you find her, the sooner you may make this future disappear. Lead on, we must hurry.”

 

* * *

 

There were bodies everywhere in this hall, skeletons months old mixed in with bodies dead less than a week. But what picked the bones clean wasn’t wild animals, or even flies, instead the red lyrium spread through dead flesh, encasing the remaining shards of cloth and bone before feeding on the new corpses.

Dorian swore when the door was forced open, barely, and the stench overwhelmed him. But the elf he’d been thrown through time with pressed on, crossing the cleared area on the other side of the door to peer around the crystal structures for hidden enemies. He straightened painfully, gaze lingering over a body here, or a scrap of armor there, people the mage didn’t know, before turning back with a nod and the all clear. The elf from the future, present, Solas the other one called him, took his weight back off the staff that had been all but supporting him as they waited and pressed onward, with Dorian following. There was just a single clear path through the growing crystals, the floor disturbingly clean down it’s trail for all that the bodies littered everywhere else.

“This must be where they throw the ones who didn’t make it through… whatever it is they’re doing,” the Tevinter mage considered morbidly, torn between taking a closer look and moving on before it could scar him for life.

“Yes,” Solas agreed with a dark chuckle, “Those who do not live and endure transformation into the purer crystal are tossed away, their corpses left to feed this impure variety.” He continued as if unfazed by the horror he was speaking. “Yet this path is carefully tended, and recently. I wonder what lies on the other side.”

“You know just what to say to inspire optimism, don’t you?” Dorian quipped, his brain-to-mouth filter long since gone. Solas gave him a brittle, disapproving look.

“If you think to look for optimists here, at the end, you will be sorely disappointed.” And with that he dismissed the human and pressed on.

Dorian winced, tempted to say something, an apology perhaps, but he couldn’t find the words. Glancing ahead, his time-traveling companion met his gaze with something resembling sympathy while Solas was too busy frowning at the bones to notice. Then the rogue was back to leading their way forward. But the moment of support made Dorian feel a bit better, at least.

He was going to have nightmares of this.

 

Mahanon turned away once Dorian relaxed, and moved into the next room along the suspiciously clear path. He forced himself to scan the shadows from his hidden spot by the door, noting the crystals overgrowing less of this room than any of the ones before. The bodies here were few, but that was somehow worse. He had a suspicion who the scattered bones and cloth had once belonged to. Vivenne’s Orlesian fashion stood out most clearly, on the bones nearest the door, the handle of the serrated blade in her chest the only thing still free from the red crystal. And lying undisturbed in the center of the large room…

“Blackwall,” Mahanon breathed, looking at the grey warden armor. It could have been anyone, but something told him it was the warrior who’d walked into the castle with him.

“Oh,” Solas startled, walking up beside him to look. “But he died when Alexius attacked you at the castle. He would have been dead long before they ever got him here.” He limped into the chamber for a better look. “Why go through all the effort of bringing the body here? Why bring all of them here?”

Mahanon looked as the other elf gestured at the corpses littering the room, and wondered, painfully, if he could not recognize them simply because he never knew them well enough, or if Solas knew intimately who had to be lying here, dead. Dorian wavered in the doorway, quiet and somber.

Then one of the bodies, wedged in a corner, moved.

“As if you didn’t know,” a man’s voice rasped out of the corpse, and Mahanon startled badly. But it wasn’t a corpse, it was a man, armor broken and bloody but held on by the chains that held him fast to the wall.

“Don’t be so suspicious,” another voice spoke up, and when Mahanon spun there was a man standing behind him where no man had been before. “Is that any way to speak to your friends?”

The chained figure growled, “If you think killing illusions of those I’ve already lost will make me break…”

“I know for a fact you never watched these ones die,” the stranger waved him off airily.

“I may not have,” the prisoner retorted, “But you know as well as I do that Mahanon was the first to fall.”

The elf in question bristled under the scrutiny, and the stranger laughed.

“I did think so, yes. Tell me, how ever did you survive? Only to return after all this time, whole and unbattered.”

“No,” Mahanon replied simply and launched himself forward, catching the man off guard and slitting his throat. Only, that didn’t stop him as his form shifted into that of a demon. The battle was a clash of blades and forms, each one driving the Demon more and more desperate until it fell with a screech, denial wheezing out on it’s last breath.

“Is it gone now?” Dorian asked, breathing heavily. “Not just turned into some new, terrible angry thing?”

“I think so,” Mahanon replied before slipping over to the smoldering corpse and stabbing it again for good measure. The last remnants of the corpse crackled and dissipated into the fade, leaving only bones, a key, and a sword behind.

“If you’re trying to trick me, it… might actually be working,” the prisoner muttered, peering up at them suspiciously. “But… How are you alive? Have you been hiding all this time, coming back only _now_ when there’s nowhere else for you to run?” His voice rose angrily until it snapped.

“Calm yourself, Cullen,” Solas snapped, struggling over to crouch in front of the bound man. “The key,” he insisted, turning back to Mahanon, who handed it over in shock. Now that he knew the man’s name, the voice he remembered, but the wreck chained here looked nothing like the man he’d known.

“We haven’t been anywhere for the last year,” Dorian explained a bit testily, “We were thrown through time. Alexius’s spell sent us a year forward. Now we’re trying to find him so we can take the amulet and go back. Make it so none of this ever happened.”

“You think I’ll believe…”

“It’s true,” Solas cut him off, finishing with the last cuff and letting Mahanon help him to his feet. “And even if it isn’t, what do you have left to lose?”

Cullen hesitated, looking up at him, and Solas waited only a moment before brushing Mahanon off and stalking away. The younger elf met Cullen’s searching look with his own, and eventually the soldier sighed.

“Maxwell came after you, the minute he heard,” he spoke finally, an edge of accusation creeping into his voice, “I was captured and he died. The things they did to his body, some sort of bloody sacrifice… They made me watch, and I fought them, until they cut off his hand as a tribute and dragged me away. Then they threw me in here, left me with the corpses, and laughed.” He chuckled humorlessly, “The demon came after that. Force fed me the lyrium, told me he’d make it stop, stop bringing the bodies, if I swore to do everything he said. I refused, and he told me that was ok, I’d break in time.”

Cullen glanced around the room, unseeing, and shuddered at the memory.

“They weren’t all dead when they dragged them in. Most of them were, of course, but not all. I watched so many people die, knowing I couldn’t stop it, even if I said yes it wouldn’t stop. I’m not stupid enough to fall for that, of all things. But I still had to watch.” He growled and glared up at the elf, “And here you are, after they’re all dead, whole and well. That’s what makes me hate you. You weren’t dead, and you weren’t here.”

“I will be,” Mahanon replied seriously, not looking away. “Any path back, no matter what comes, I will make sure I’m there. This _will not_ happen.”

“And I hate that I believe you,” Cullen grumbled, refusing the elf’s hand and dragging himself upright using the wall. He leaned heavily for a moment, eyes closed, before turning his look back at his lost comrade. “Give me that sword. He’s right. I have nothing left to lose.”

 

* * *

 

They found Leliana strapped to a table in a lab, a robed cultist cutting skin out of her side with a scalpel as she cursed at him. Mahanon snapped his head back the moment he lifted his hand for another stroke, and Leliana somehow embedded the scalpel in the man’s throat before Mahanon could slice it. Her mangled hand lowered, thumb dislocated and bleeding, and Mahanon avoided her searching look by kneeling to look for the man’s key. The others hurried into the room as the fight started, but hung back when it was apparent he didn’t need help.

“You’re alive,” she whispered after a long moment, and he nodded as he moved to free her. She said nothing else as he finished, and he offered her the last of his potions.

“Drink. It will get you back on your feet, at least.”

She nodded and drank, the wound along her side healing, but it did nothing for the hollows in her cheeks, or the rasp in her voice. “Do you have weapons?” She asked, asked, as he stripped the cultist of their robe and held it out to her.

“There was a bow on the one we killed in the hall,” Cullen offered.

“Good,” she agreed, the robes hanging oddly on her, but the armor would work well enough. “The Magister is probably in his chambers. I would kill him, before I die.”

“You’re not at all interested in how we got her?” Dorian asked hesitantly.

“No,” she growled, low in her throat, stalking off to find the bow Cullen had mentioned. “There is nothing left to care about.” She didn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

For all her determination, Leliana had lost the stamina she had once had, and the group caught up with her as she fought the next enemy group.

“I’ll go first,” Mahanon insisted when the last Venatori fell, “Let me take them out with the element of surprise and you with the bow. We’re headed for Alexius too.”

“Fine,” she snarled, and moved away again, this time letting him take the lead at least.

“She’s angry,” Cullen murmured, challenging, as he made his way a little behind Mahanon. “You can’t begrudge her that.”

“I know,” the elf hissed, glancing back. Leliana ignored him, but Dorian seemed to get the message and moved further away from her to walk on Solas’s other side.

 

* * *

 

The courtyard was… bad. Cullen stumbled, staring at the sky in shock, and the others seemed to share Mahanon’s dread. All except Leliana, who had no care for anything but her target and insisted they move on. She stalked ahead again, and Mahanon followed, not wanting to let her too far out of his sight.

“Wait!” Solas’s call startled them both, and Leliana halted as Mahanon looked back.

“Look ahead,” the elven mage continued, pointing, “Those stones. It is a binding circle, meant to trap a powerful demon.”

“If the Venatori feared it, then perhaps we should free it?” Cullen offered. “The Enemy of my Enemy and all that.”

“If they feared it, it likely cannot be reasoned with at all, and was powerful enough they couldn’t bind it,” Solas warned, “And we are no longer protected from it if we enter that circle.”

“That is the only way across,” Leliana snapped, striding forward again, “Unless you wish to waste time by going back and finding another path around the courtyard. No, we cut across, and if the demon attacks us, we kill it.”

“Leliana…” Cullen started, but she ignored him and walked across the barrier without a backwards look.

“Better go after her then,” Dorian sighed, and Mahanon managed a twinge of a smile in reply before nodding.

“But we stay together. If anyone gets attacked, we can do something about it.”

“Agreed,” Cullen replied, steeling himself to follow. Solas only nodded and stayed close.

The barrier was larger than Mahanon expected, and they rounded a corner before they could see other edge of the barrier up a flight of stairs. Mahanon turned back to make sure the others saw it as well, just in time to see Cullen blanch and stumble, looking the other way.

“He’s still… this is where…”

Mahanon spun, and when he saw the fraying corpse stabbed into the statue at the barrier’s center, he knew where they were. It took only a look at the missing hand to be certain who this was.

“Maxwell,” he breathed, the death he hadn’t been admitting to himself hitting like a mace-blow.

“We need to move,” Dorian’s voice cut through his despairing panic, “If a demon is locked in here with your friend’s corpse, what is it likely to do with him when it catches us? I for one would rather not fight him reanimated.”

“He’s right, Cullen,” Solas insisted, “Pull yourself together, we must find the Magister before we all end up like he did.”

“It hurts,” A quiet voice murmured from behind them, too close, “If you wait, I can make it all go away.” Mahanon launched himself into Cullen moments before the demon could stab him in the back, throwing them both to the floor. The ex-templar hissed in pain, rolling away from him with a sneer forming on his face, only to stare in shock at the demon he could now see clearly.

“He knew you were going to turn on him,” the demon informed Mahanon before moving to attack, only to get hit in the side with one of Dorian’s fireballs.

“Move!” the mage yelled, “Hurry!”

“We need to get out of the barrier!” Solas agreed, a sweeping barrier rising around the group at his gesture. “Now!”

Mahanon shoved Cullen to his feet, and they all ran for the stairs.

“You hurt, but you’re trying to help,” the demon whispered in Mahanon’s ear and he lashed out, jumping to one side just enough to dodge. “That’s not really helping, I can make the hurt stop.” And the monster leapt past him at Dorian’s back. Mahanon couldn’t catch it in time.

Dorian looked back, noticing Mahanon gone, and startled at the sight of the demon bearing down on him. He stumbled, and that was enough for the demon to close the distance. Only, and arrow slammed into its throat, driving it back. Leliana stood at the top of the stairs, just behind the binding stone, bow drawn. Seconds later, Mahanon slammed into the demon’s side, both daggers lashing out. Dorian scrambled to his feet, torn between helping and running.

“Come on!” Solas yelled back at him, shoving Cullen up the last of the stairs. “He won’t leave until you get clear!”

So Dorian ran.

Mahanon rolled, twisting madly as the demon slashed with arms like blades, trying to catch him, and succeeding only slightly less well than desired. It burned still, from Dorian’s spell, and the arrow in its throat caught, snapping off the next moment from a kick. It stumbled, and he came out of the roll on his feet. But he was too close to run, in the fight too deep to check if the others were out. So he lashed out again, catching the creature’s shoulder.

“Why won’t you let me help?!” the demon cried out, startled, and flinched back before attacking again.

“This isn’t helping,” Mahanon hissed, deflecting a blow so it only glanced off his side before burrowing both blades into the monsters chest, twisting, and pulling out, “It’s just death.” It fell, silently, and he danced back, pained. But it didn’t get up again.

 

“You’re injured,” Dorian stated, a bit stupidly, when Mahanon turned from the body and fled out of the circle to them. He wanted to say something else, he just couldn’t think of anything, and sometimes the most important things just needed to be stated baldly.

“I’ll be fine,” the elf replied, “We can’t stay here...”

“Fine?” the mage cut him off angrily, “Just because you say that doesn’t make it true. You need to at least bind the injuries if you don’t want to die of blood loss. You need to survive to go back in time, remember? I can’t stop this on my own.”

Mahanon gave him a long look, almost on the edge of arguing, before he nodded. “I have a little elfroot left,” he agreed quietly, “But after we get inside. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

“Me either,” Dorian murmured, because what do you say to something like that? _‘I don’t want to be trapped in the terrible future any more than you do_?’ But somehow, that was enough to get a quirk at the edge of the elf’s serious expression. Dorian was willing to count that as a win.

 

* * *

 

Leliana hissed and spat when they found they couldn’t open the door to the main hall. Dorian was able to tell them the red lyrium shard looked like it would fit in one of the holes in the door, however, leaving them short four more pieces of the key. This one had dropped from the Venatori leading the last group, so they set off to kill more until they completed the set. The promise of continued violence reconciled Leliana to the task, at least.

But Mahanon explored the rooms they passed, looking for any of the shards that may have been hidden away, finding unsent letters, diaries, and experimental journals instead. He read those he could stomach, tucking them all away into his pack as they pressed on, mind worrying at the edges of the picture they painted.

The Venatori were as terrified as those they had killed. And the world was coming to an end.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that information, other than hurry.

 

* * *

 

The last of the shards slid into place, and the door sang low as the locks disengaged, swinging inward. Up on the dais the throne was tossed aside and Alexius stood by the fire, as though warding off the lingering chill of the Breach. He stilled as they entered, but didn’t look at them, focusing his attention on the flames. Mahanon hesitated, looking around the room for any more immediate threat, and found nothing.

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked, steeling himself and stepping forward. “Everything you did to the world? To the others? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Alexius replied weakly, voice wavering, “All we can do is wait... for the end.” He huffed at that, amused. “The irony that you should appear _now_ , of all possibilities. I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you.”

“Did you take comfort,” Dorian growled, “That there was at least one life you didn’t destroy with your own two hands? That, though you were torturing innocents in the dungeon, at least I hadn’t been vaporized? Or did you curse at the very thought?”

Alexius glanced back at that, half turning. Then he looked away again.

“All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death, there is nothing else. The Elder One comes, for me, for you. For us all.”

“Then help us stop this,” Dorian insisted. “Reject this madness, Alexius. Give us the Amulet, so we can undo what you’ve done.”

“You can’t reason with him, he’s already gone,” Leliana’s voice hissed from the shadows. Everyone in the room spun to face her, just in time to watch as she dragged a sunken corpse from the bed tucked into one corner of the room.

“Felix!” Alexius cried, and Mahanon startled, looking closer, and was horrified to see the ‘corpse’ was actually breathing, eyes wide and unseeing, but alive.

“Leliana!” he hissed in warning, but she only glared at him in return.

Dorian stared in shock, “That’s _Felix_? Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“He would have died, Dorian!” The Magister insisted brokenly, “I _saved_ him!”

“Leliana, let Felix go. He’s innocent. He wasn’t a part of this,” Mahanon insisted.

The archer turned her glare from Alexius back to the elf. “No one is innocent.”

Then she slit his throat as Alexius screamed, and launched herself at the Magister. But Alexius smashed her aside, turning on the whole group in his rage.

“This can’t be happening,” Dorian hissed under his breath as the others charged past him. But he readied his staff nonetheless, and fought beside them. Alexius lasted half as long as any of his guards had, and died with Cullen’s sword through his neck from behind. Dorian crouched by the body, sifting through his pockets half-heartedly. Mahanon moved to crouch across from him and help.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” The mage murmured to him. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix months ago, and he didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

Mahanon pulled the amulet from Alexius’s pocket, and leaned forward, holding it out to the mage. “So change it. He’ll still be there when we get back.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Dorian agreed, but his usual cheer was missing. He took the amulet from Mahanon and stood, turning away as he looked it over. The elf followed.

“This is the same Amulet he used before,” Dorian decided after a moment. “I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me some time, an hour perhaps, and I should be able to work out the spell he used, reopen the rift.”

“An _hour_?” Cullen demanded, eyes widening. “Do you know how much can go wrong in an hour? No, you have to leave. Now.”

“He’s right,” Solas agreed hurriedly, “Disregarding the fact that whoever’s left of the Magister's guard likely knows exactly where we are, I am certain we don’t have much time before…”

A dragon’s cry echoed through the hall, cutting him off, and the castle shook.

“What is that?” Mahanon demanded, daggers back in his hands.

“The Elder One,” Leliana replied grimly. Behind her Cullen and Solas shared a look.

“It will not be long now,” Solas agreed, “And he has no doubt brought his army.”

“We’ll hold him off,” Cullen finished, moving to stand beside the bald mage, “Buy as much time as we can.”

“There must be another way…” Mahanon started, alarmed, but Leliana cut him off.

“Look at us, we’re already dead. The only way we live is if none of this ever happens.” She turned to Dorian, and for a moment she was carved from stone. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

And then Cullen and Solas were gone, the swordsman pausing just long enough to pull one of the shards from the door and throw it through as it closed behind them. Leliana took up position just behind it, bow at the ready, their last line of defense.

Dorian took Mahanon by the arm and dragged him back onto the dais, standing them both in the same spot they had been when Alexius cast his spell. The shaking worsened, and sounds of battle rose on the other side of the door. Then came a deep pounding, as the wall around the door was slowly destroyed, and came crumbling down.

As the stone fell, Leliana launched into motion, arrow after arrow flying through the dust and landing in some demon’s throat, or eye. But they kept coming, and she was tiring fast. Mahanon took a half step towards her, to do something, to help while Dorian was still weaving spells. But the mage caught his arm.

“If you don’t make it through, we all die!”

But in that second Leliana was down. Dorian grabbed the Amulet, casting another spell quicker than Mahanon could follow, even as a metal-clad archer lined up a shot and let it go. Mahanon stepped in between the attack and the mage beside him, only for the spell to catch them, just in time, throwing them back to where they came.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to add to the angst: Anyone recognize the demon in the courtyard?


	5. Return

The smoke cleared, and they were standing side by side in the throne room, facing surprise and horror on Alexius’s face. But Felix was standing beside him, alarm slipping away into relief, and that was all either traveler needed to know they were back.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Slipped from Dorian’s mouth without him really thinking about it. He wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by it, but Mahanon glanced back, and shared his strained smirk. Resignation settled on Alexius’s face, and he sank to his knees.

“Surrender,” Mahanon insisted quietly, “This path isn’t worth the sacrifices you would make.”

“You’ve won. There is no point justifying this charade,” Alexius conceded, turning to look up at his son. “Felix…”

“It’s going to be alright, father,” the young man replied softly, coming to crouch just within arms reach of his parent.

“You’ll die,” Alexius argued, voice breaking, and Felix shook his head sadly.

“Everyone dies, and sometimes… living would be worse.”

Alexius looked down, blinking back tears, then stood and turned away, looking at the inquisition soldiers who had come to take him away.

“Grand Enchanter,” Felix spoke once his father was gone, turning to Fiona. “As my father’s heir I may take some legal action in his stead. Consider your agreement voided. If your people still wish to join Tevinter, they’ll need to find another Magister to serve.”

“I understand,” Fiona agreed shakily. Felix gave her a wry smile.

“For whatever it’s worth, thank you for taking care of me, even if it wasn’t your choice. And I’m sorry for what my Father put you through.”

The Grand Enchanter looked away, then managed a smile for him in return. “There are worse things I have done than try to heal a good man. But you do not understand the position you put us in now.”

“No, I understand,” Felix disagreed, “But keeping your contract would have ended far worse, for both of us.” Then he turned away from her, looking to the Inquisition party. “You need to know. My father mentioned Venatori spies among the mages. When they learn he has been defeated they will try to move the mages against you.”

“That explains why they were so quick to join up,” Dorian murmured, “Get enough people spreading misinformation and lo they line up like sheep to the slaughter. Insisting on the right to sign their lives away.”

“Look, I may not understand what just happened,” Blackwall interrupted, “But if what you say is true, we need to stop these mages before they kill our potential allies.”

“He’s right,” Solas agreed, “We do not yet know the how or why, but we don’t need to to know the Venatori will rob us of whatever resources they cannot command, without thinking twice.”

“No! This cannot be true!” Fiona protested, “Surely they would try to strengthen their position rather than kill those who might not agree with them.” But she recognized the falseness in her own statement without being told and bowed her head, “Maker, what have I allowed to happen? What can we do?”

“You will come to the Inquisition,” Mahanon replied, “Bringing those who follow with you. They don’t know Alexius is gone yet, and if we can get your people there before the fighting breaks out…”

“There may be a chance to save them,” Fiona finished for him. “I agree. But what of those who will not come? And, can you speak for the Inquisition to offer us shelter, as you did before, or was that just pretty words to buy your soldiers time?”

“The offer was genuine,” Mahanon told her, “We were prepared to make it, and if Alexius accepted the Inquisition would make our counteroffer to any mages who came to assist us. In this negotiation I speak for the Inquisition. If I need to change the deal, I can.”

“Then, what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked.

“The mages must work with our Ambassador to draft a formal contract, as allies of the Inquisition,” the elf replied, ignoring Blackwall’s startled breath, “If Maxwell,” he stumbled over the name but pressed on, “Succeeds in gaining allies from the Templars, you will be housed separately, and any interactions between both groups will be supervised by Inquisition soldiers. After a trial period, further integration will be discussed, both on a group and an individual level.” Mahanon met Fiona’s startled look with a frown. “And once the danger from the Breach has passed, you will stand trial for the harm you’ve done, both to Redcliffe and your own people.”

“Not for daring to secede from the circles? For leading the mages in rebellion?” She demanded.

“We are not allies of the Chantry,” Mahanon replied seriously, “And for what my word is worth, you will not be handed over to them for trial.”

“Then I accept your terms,” Fiona agreed. Just then, an Inquisition soldier hurried into the room.

“Lady Nightingale said I should warn you, there are Ferelden soldiers approaching the castle. She says she’ll meet you in the courtyard, and to hurry.”

“Have they taken the town? My people…” Fiona gasped, but the soldier could only shrug.

“That’s all I know, but the Lady may know more.” Fiona nodded and left to find the Inquisition’s Spymistress.

“Well… so much for simple,” Dorian quipped, but he looked as exhausted with the prospect as Mahanon felt. Then the mage turned to say something to Felix about their situation, only to find the other looking shaken. “Maker’s breath, Felix, are you alright?”

“Fine, Dorian,” came the automatic response, but then he shook his head. “Don’t you understand? We’re both Altus, in a castle my father took by conquest, with the Ferelden army arriving. There are so many ways this could end badly.”

Dorian froze, then smiled somberly, “Nothing bad will happen. I’m sure these Ferelden are a reasonable sort, and everything will be cleared up in no time.”

“And you’re both under my protection,” Mahanon cut in before really thinking about it, but Solas nodded thoughtfully as the others stared at him in shock.

“The Inquisition has already taken Alexius into custody, and you were both instrumental in stopping him. It would be foolish to abandon allies, especially when you, out of all Redcliffe’s mages, are the only two who have proven yourselves to be so.”

“And you shouldn’t be blamed for another man’s actions,” Blackwall agreed firmly, “Especially when you not only opposed him, but did everything you could to make it right.”

“Well then,” Dorian said after a long moment. “Let’s not keep the lady waiting shall we?”

 

* * *

 

The courtyard was whole, and the sky blue, but Mahanon still stumbled to a stop at the top of the stairs, staring at the statue on the ground below.

“What is it…?” Dorian asked, moving beside him before cutting himself off somberly. “Oh… I’d forgotten where we were, exactly.”

“What’s wrong?” Blackwall asked, edging around them nervously, hand on his sword. But he couldn’t see anything wrong with the courtyard and turned back questioningly. Mahanon just shook his head and moved to continue, only to stop again at the top of the stairs where the binding circle had ended.

“It won’t happen,” Dorian offered after a short internal debate. When Mahanon turned to blink at him he continued, “We’ll make sure it doesn’t. So let’s just walk by without looking back, alright?”

“Alright,” Mahanon agreed, “But if you trip this time, I’m not going to take it well.”

“This time?” Felix asked, confused, and Dorian winced.

“I’ll… tell you later. Not now.” His friend just nodded and let it go, to the mage’s relief.

“There you are,” a cheerful voice called, and Mahanon spun so fast he nearly ran over Dorian. Leliana chuckled at that and waved them over.

“Oh,” the human breathed staring after her, just loud enough for Mahanon to hear, “I’d forgotten that’s what she looked like.”

“My agent told you we’re about to have company, yes? And not just any company, that is the royal guard crossing the bridge. Ferelden’s King is coming to visit.”

“He came to retake the castle from Alexius,” Mahanon realized, something the guards in the future had said clicking in his memory.

“Indeed,” Leliana replied, nodding, “Fortunately, my agents were able to catch him on the road and inform him of the Inquisition’s presence here. When we managed to take the castle by the time he arrived, he agreed to meet with us instead.”

“Instead of what?” Dorian asked.

“Instead of demanding Alexius give the castle back, I imagine,” Leliana replied, “Ferelden must first offer a peaceful solution, or be accused of warmongering, no matter that it was a foreign Magister who was in the wrong. Since they extended the offer of shelter to the mages, many will see Alexius’s takeover as the result of their own folly.”

“How charming,” the northern mage muttered, turning to watch the approaching soldiers.

“Before he arrives you should know, Felix says there are spies among the mages,” Mahanon reported, “They probably planted the idea of joining Tevinter, and argued for it when the others started considering the option. If they think the Inquisition may gain their alliance instead…”

“They would kill those they cannot take with them,” Leliana finished, eyes widening before she nodded. “And you worry the King’s arrival may accelerate their response.”

“I offered the Grand Enchanter sanctuary for the mages at Haven, and our assistance in weeding out the spies before they could do much harm.” Mahanon glanced at the guards just now entering the gate. “She’s agreed to stand trial for the damage she’s done in return for an alliance for the mages with the Inquisition, and my word she will not be turned over to the Chantry to be punished for leading the secession from the Circles.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t reply as the royal guard took the perimeter, and the king himself walked over. Across from them, Inquisition soldiers moved into guard positions as well, while Felix and Dorian moved to stand beside Mahanon and Leliana, leaving Fiona staring at the king in shock and horror as she stood alone.

The King looked over the Inquisition forces, nodding to Leliana’s group in acknowledgment before turning to the Grand Enchanter with a frown.

“Grand Enchanter,” He began coldly, “Imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter Magister.”

“Your Majesty…” Fiona tried, but the King wasn’t done.

“When the Queen and I offered you sanctuary, did we somehow mistakenly imply that gave you the right to drive our people from their homes?”

“Your Majesty…” Fiona tried again, looking stricken, “We never intended…”

“I know what you intended,” Alistair retorted angrily, then he sighed, face softening, “I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible. Anora and I rescind our offer of Sanctuary. You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

“I…” the Grand Enchanter bowed her head, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The Grand Enchanter has already accepted the Inquisition’s offer of sanctuary, in return for the mages assistance closing the Breach,” Leliana explained at Alistair’s confused look. “But it is not that simple.”

“When is it ever?” He sighed good naturedly, startling those watching and earning a smile from Leliana. “What is it this time?”

“The Magister is part of a cult of Tevinter extremists, serving an ‘Elder One’ that we believe is responsible for the Breach,” Leliana explained, “Spies from the cult infiltrated the mages, to convince them to form an alliance with Tevinter without knowing consequences. Those spies are still here, and may try to kill the mages who would follow the Inquisition.”

“Catching Redcliffe in the crossfire,” Alistair finished for her. “What are our options?”

“With the Magister removed, and his household silenced by my men, we have a day, maybe less, before word spreads that the the castle is retaken,” Leliana told him, “The Inquisition does not have enough forces nearby to defend Redcliffe and protect the refugees we’ve taken in. And our remaining forces would take too long to respond.”

“Arl Teagan and Anora are waiting a ways off with a portion of the Royal Army,” Alistair offered, shrugging at Leliana’s smile, “Something about keeping the pretense of civility by not negotiating while the army was showing up.”

“Now, I may be missing something, but how does bringing in armed troops prevent my esteemed countrymen from going on the offensive?” Dorian asked.

“Countrymen?” Alistair startled.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? When a former mentor offers a chance to rebuild the world from the ashes, then runs off when you turn him down, it only makes sense to try and stop him. As much as everyone likes to deny it, Tevinter is a part of the world too.”

“Dorian is a valued ally,” Mahanon cut in, “I trust him with my life.”

Alistair blinked and Leliana looked startled for half a moment. Dorian looked startled as well, but also pleased.

“You as well, friend,” the mage replied, “You certainly saved it often enough.”

“Dorian…?” Felix began worriedly, but the older man caught his slip and waved his friend off.

“Later, Felix. I promise.”

“He’s right, though,” Blackwall spoke up after a moment, “Armed soldiers marching in will only make the mages nervous, causing the infiltrators to get violent even faster.”

“Which is why we must spread doubt before they get here,” Leliana told him. “Those the Inquisition aided have already told people of the good we’ve done, and my agents can start rumors of what the Magister really wanted, why he invited the Inquisition to negotiate rather than ask who among the mages would volunteer to help save the world. Once that is begun, the Grand Enchanter and the King will address the people, explaining what happened, finishing with the rebellion being told to leave just as the army arrives. The Enchanter can then repeat the Inquisition’s offer of shelter and an alliance, and those who refuse to accept will be allowed to leave, after being escorted out of the village.”

“But what if my people do not all agree?” Fiona asked desperately, “Those who do not will be lost to this cult, with no one to save them!”

“That is why the doubt it so important,” Solas told her, “Why you must tell them in no uncertain terms how they would have been enslaved, making it clear that you only just learned, and that the Inquisition’s negotiator has already sworn before witnesses to provide better. In the end it is their choice, but this way we will save all we can.”

“You must tell them that the Inquisition’s doors will always be open to them,” Leliana continued when he was done. “Should they change their mind, and many will when they learn all is not how it seems, they may still seek sanctuary with us.”

“And what are my lines?” Alistair asked as she finished, “What little bits and pieces should I _absolutely_ remember to mention?”

“That you did not want to do this,” Leliana told him, “But the Mage Rebellion allowed a Magister to drive their protector out of his home. In light of this you can no longer allow them to stay in Ferelden.”

“But I don’t just want to leave them to attract demons and be threatened by wandering Templars,” Alistair sighed, then nodded. “I’ll talk with Arl Teagan when he arrives. Either the Arl’s men or mine will provide escort to Haven.”

“Then tell them that as well,” Leliana agreed, “It will enforce the validity of the Inquisition’s offer.”

“Just make sure not to make them seem like captives,” Mahanon murmured, “We don’t need that association connected with the Inquisition. The mages will be our allies, not our prisoners.”

“Understood,” Alistair huffed, “You’d think I’d never done this before.” But he smiled after a moment to show he didn’t mind. “When do we start?”

“Immediately,” Leliana replied, “We will send one of my agents as a runner. Then we must get our allies talking...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with the plan to deal with the Tevinter Agents, but I'm not sure there's a better in-universe way to deal with them. And I'm happy with the politics merging with old friendships, so I'll leave it as is.


	6. Facing Change

“So many lost,” Fiona lamented as she watched the mages move out of Redcliffe into the temporary camp. The Tevinter supporters had bristled at the Magister’s removal, decrying her claims of indenture as lies. The Queen’s arrival with the royal soldier and the Arl’s men stopped them from risking a coup. Instead they rallied their followers and departed. Nearly a third of the mages went with them, convinced by their lies enough to trust Tevinter over a failed Grand Enchanter.

A number of other mages did not go with them, but refused the Inquisition’s invitation of sanctuary. These were the ones who could not be convinced the Inquisition would honor an alliance once any mages were surrounded by their soldier. Or they simply no longer trusted Fiona to have their best interests at heart.

She didn’t blame them for doubting. She had failed them, signed them away into slavery that only a rare twist of fate had saved them from. And she herself doubted the Inquisition’s promise to view them as allies. If she hadn’t given her word, she might not be accompanying them herself.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” a voice startled her out of her thoughts and she spun to see Ferelden’s King making his way over.

“Your Majesty…” she began, but stopped at the strained worry on his face.

“This is always the worst part, wondering what could have gone different,” he started again once he was standing next to her. “‘If only I had done this, maybe they would have done that.’ Definitely the worst part of ruling. Well, except maybe the noble parties and the paperwork.” He smiled expectantly after that joke but didn’t seem surprised when her chuckle was half-hearted in reply.

“The thing is, sure you messed up, and now the sky is raining demons, and you don’t know where the others are all going to go now that they’re gone… but, what I’m trying to say is… Think of them like… children!”

“Children?” Fiona repeated, startled. The king nodded enthusiastically.

“Because, like children, you can’t protect them all the time. They don’t always listen to you, and when they do, they don’t even listen to everything you say. And some of them leave you. Sometimes so young that you don’t even really have a chance to know them or them to know you, or… something… but that’s not my point.” He stopped in bemusement for a second before he got his train of thought back on track. “In the end, you can’t force them to stay, or even like you. And you know you can’t teach them anything more when they leave, and you’re worried you’ll never see them again or that they won’t remember anything about you. And some of them will turn out badly, but sometimes…” He shrugged, “Sometimes letting go of the people you care about gives them the space they needed to grow into something good, something you would never have expected. They were lucky to have you, to worry about them, and I’m sure at least some of them will turn out alright.”

“Like you did?” Fiona asked, smiling at him.

“Or the mages, or… yes, that’s what I wanted to say,” Alistair agreed, smiling back at her. And he didn’t know, he wasn’t looking at her expecting anything, he had just meant it as a comfort. And it was. But she dared one more thing.

“Who were you thinking of when you told me that?”

“More than one?” he offered hesitantly, but when she continued waiting for a response he shrugged. “Well, the Hero of Ferelden, as the obvious one. Duncan, the Grey Warden who recruited me and watched out for me throughout my training. And… Wynne. She was a healer from the Ferelden Circle, and she’d check to make sure I wasn’t cold or injured, and she darned my socks when I got holes in them.”

“I knew her, in passing,” Fiona agreed, “And Duncan, long ago. He was a good man.”

“I still miss them,” Alistair sighed, “And Theron. But I keep going to make them proud of me. Who knows, Theron may be back to visit from _wherever_ he is, now that Ferelden is in peril again.”

“One can only hope,” Fiona replied, hesitating before she continued, “For what it’s worth, I’m sure you’ve made them proud.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Alistair disagreed lightly, “But thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“And where are you off to, hmm?” Dorian asked, startling Felix, “The day is won, the masses appeased, and almost everyone lived to tell about it." His smile faded somewhat when the younger man looked away, but he pressed on. "Certainly you weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you?”

"I won't ask you to come back with me Dorian," Felix replied softly, "But someone needs to tell the Magisterium what my father was doing, before the Venatori use his arrest as a rallying point against the Inquisition."

"That does sound like them," Dorian sighed, "'Those southerners dared lay a hand on one of our own! Uncouth barbarians, the lot of them.'" Felix smiled slightly at the quip, but Dorian wasn't done arguing. "I suppose you intend to walk to Minrathous, through war and demon infested countryside? With no food or companions? How very daring of you."

“What do you want from me?” Felix asked tiredly. “Anything of value my father brought with him was left behind in Redcliffe Castle. But I need to get home, and I won’t have you following me. You want to stay, I can tell.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Dorian chided him, “Just because I want to stay doesn’t mean I can’t help. I am not entirely without resources, you know. And I’m certainly not about to let you wander off on your own. Stay with me and follow these fellows for a while, at least. Someone has to notice we haven’t left eventually.”

“I don’t know. Offering aid to the southern mages, and offering aid to a mage from Tevinter are two very different things,” Felix pointed out, but he stopped trying to wander away.

“Nonsense,” Dorian disagreed, throwing an arm around his shoulders to steer him back to the others. “Unless you mean to say that you helped and they didn’t.”

“They won't see it that way, Dorian. Most of them will see us as more at fault no matter what we tried to do.”

Dorian shrugged. “Just like being back home then.”

Mahanon managed a tired smile of greeting as they wandered back in, actually managing to look happy to see them, but it was the Inquisition Spymaster who made her way over.

“Mister Pavus, a word if you please.”

“And just like home there's always 'Just one more thing,’” Dorian sighed, letting Felix go. “We’ve saved this charming little hamlet twice now, aren't we done for the day?”

“Not hardly,” Leliana quipped back. “I still want that explanation. Why is it you’re both fine one moment then a flash of magic and your clothes are torn and bloody? That was more than simply the result of the spell, was it not?”

“Ah. I keep forgetting you weren’t there,” the mage murmured, “Not sure how. It’s rather obvious…”

“So do I,” Mahanon agreed, then smiled slightly at the spymaster’s curious look. “It’s a rather unbelievable tale.”

“I have experienced many unbelievable things,” she replied with a frown, “How different could it be? What is with all this evasion?”

“Let’s just say it’s not a conversation I want curious ears listening in on,” Dorian told her lowly. “What if the four of us go somewhere quiet and we’ll discuss it, hmm?”

“As you wish,” Leliana agreed, though she gave Felix a curious look, “Follow me.”

 

 

* * *

 

“You went forward in time?” Leliana repeated, eyes wide, “You are certain?”

“Yes,” Mahanon informed her bluntly, the events of the day catching up with him. Dorian bit back his immediate response and shot the elf a worried look. Which Felix caught, giving the other mage a curious one of his own.

“I thought perhaps you were drawn into the fade, I have seen that,” Leliana continued wonderingly, “But you are sure you were not. And seemingly no time had passed! That seems to support your claims, more than anything. But, to travel in time! I can see why you did not want to speak of this where inquiring minds might overhear.”

“Of course, madam,” Dorian interrupted as she paused for breath, “But, if you don’t mind, we’ve gone to the future. Terrible things happened, some of which we have informed you. Others are quite terrible enough without having to relive them, and still others we don’t know enough about to begin to explain. Then we decided ‘No, this won’t do at all’, and we came back to make sure it didn’t. After all that here we are, tired and strained. My friend is even injured!” He waved at Mahanon expressively before deflating with a sigh. “What we want is rest. Surely whatever endless questions you have can be asked after?”

“You were injured?!” Leliana exclaimed, turning on Mahanon, “How? Why did you not say so before?”

“There was a demon with blades for arms,” the elf shrugged, “It was a close quarters fight.”

“And now it’s covered with an elfroot poultice, I believe,” Dorian continued mildly. “Incidentally, he’s out of healing potions.”

“All this about me?” Mahanon mused, one eyebrow raised, “I’m sure you have some bruises at least.”

“Not as bad as they could have been,” the mage retorted, then hesitated before continuing. “I never thanked you for that, did I?”

For some reason that just made the elf’s tired smile wider. “No need. Go pick a tent, then. I’ll find you later.”

“And be careful,” Leliana added quietly, “I don’t want to hear you’re in need of a healer yourselves later.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Dorian agreed quickly. Then put an arm around his fellow Altus’s shoulders. “Come on then, Felix. It’s about time we have that talk I owe you.”

Once they departed Leliana turned to Mahanon, “You are certain they can be trusted? To give them free reign…”

“Felix wants to make a difference before he dies of the blight,” the elf murmured, “And Dorian lived through this with me. I trust him.”

“I see,” she said, scrutinizing him a moment longer before nodding. “Stay here, I will send for the healer.”

 

* * *

 

“I'm sure you must have questions,” Dorian said, once they were in their assigned tent. But Felix shook his head.

“You don’t need to say anything, Dorian. I believe you “

“It’s not that, it’s… Felix, I saw you die. You were little more than a husk because of Alexius’s efforts to save you, then one of our companions slit your throat for daring to live after what they went through. And Alexius… I helped kill him.” He stared at his hands. “It was such a relief to come back and see him alive, and sane. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that.”

“I don’t blame you for my death, Dorian,” Felix murmured, “Neither does my father. If he tries to, he’s just lashing out because he’s sure there has to be something he hasn’t done to save me. But there’s no living with this. I either waste away into a monster, or I die. I’d rather die.”

“Don’t talk about it like that,” Dorian protested weakly, “Right now you’re alive, and I don’t want to think about you dying again. Especially not that you’re going to leave and then I’ll never see you again.”

“You knew things would change when you left Tevinter,” Felix began, but Dorian cut him off.

“Yes, but I can still expect them to remain the same nonetheless. Denial is so much simpler. Easier to do what’s right when I’m not constantly counting what I’ll lose.”

“But you’ll gain some things,” Felix returned, “You managed to convince at least one of them you’re trustworthy.”

“Yes, he said he trusts me. Me, the Tevinter mage,” Dorian laughed, “and the southern elf trusts me! What was _he_ thinking I wonder.” He considered it for a moment, “I suppose I did get us back. But he already seemed to trust me to try that.”

“And you trust him,” the younger mage pointed out, the words making Dorian hesitate.

“He got that injury because of me. That demon that he mentioned us running from and him fighting? He fought it because I tripped. Though we both would have been dead if that archer hadn’t shot it in the neck... I can’t just dismiss something like that.”

“It may just be bruises, but you’re tired as well,” Felix responded, shifting away from the subject. “You should rest before you fall down.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Dorian admitted, smiling at the irony, “But I’ll try. Do promise you won’t try to walk home while I’m asleep, hmm?”

“I promise. Now shut up, Dorian.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who saw the reference but didn't understand it. Fiona is Alistair's mother in expanded universe stuff. Not sure if it'll still be canon by the time the next game came out, but yea, figured I could reference it either way.
> 
> Hope the last chapter was an ok wrap-up. I needed something upbeat at the end.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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